


Traintober Prompt Fills

by Bloopydoo (UNDERTALESIN)



Category: Thomas the Tank Engine - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Magic Mirror - Freeform, Monsters, My First Work in This Fandom, OC Dr Beeching, Prompt Fill, Scrapyards, Traintober, Tumblr Prompt, Work In Progress, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-06-26 06:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15657591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UNDERTALESIN/pseuds/Bloopydoo
Summary: Fills for the Traintober writing prompts on Tumblr. Crossposted to Fanfiction.net as Bloopydoo





	1. Nightmares (Gordon x Henry) [songfic]

**Author's Note:**

> Working off a headcanon from the 'Steel Bodies, Human Hearts' series, the engines can project a human form for an unspecified amount of time. Also, when Henry sings, +it looks like this+ and when Gordon sings #it looks like this#  
> (only for this chapter)

Gordon was woken by a quiet noise from a corner of the sheds; unfamiliar and unwelcome. Henry, the source of the noise, was whimpering quietly: curled up in a corner of the shed and partially hidden by his engine. His rebuild at Crewe had forced him to listen to the other horrible truth of the Works there: Scrapping.

The engines outside were younger than Edward, some even as young as Thomas. They had fluctuated between silent and downtrodden, ranging with grief, and screaming in pain. These engines were to die; anesthetics would be wasted on them!

And so they had suffered.

 

Henry hadn't gotten much sleep at Crewe.

\---------------

Back on Sodor, neither had Gordon. 

Gordon had been worried and distracted while Henry had been away getting rebuilt. He'd grown close to him, treating him almost like an adoptive brother; Henry was made from stolen plans of himself, even if the plans had been shoddy and construction poor. He'd been unhappy. Dare he say it, lonely.

He'd been almost ecstatic when Henry returned, though he hid it well. But he had quickly begun to see the cracks in Henry's façade.

Gordon sighed as he heard another loud whimper from Henry's berth. A quick glance made it clear Henry was hiding, as his face was absent from his smokebox. As Edward was asleep, it fell to him to calm Henry, lest the others be woken by him.

He'd quietly shifted into his projection form, and clambered down from his cab.

He'd telegraphed every step on the gravel to let Henry know he was coming. The green engine had been skittish and easily spooked since his return, so he and the others had gotten used to making enough noise for Henry to hear their approaches. He only hoped that tonight might be one of the better nights.

\---------------------------------

Henry had heard the careful footsteps on the gravel and had quickly scrubbed the tears off his face with his sleeve. He should have been more careful, should have been quieter, now he was going to be in trouble; he might even be scrapped!-

Gordon rounded the corner of Henry's tender to find him curled up on the sleepers between the rails and hugging his knees to his chest. His eyes squeezed tight, braced as if afraid of something. Gordon sighed.

He carefully sat down next to Henry, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Henry had opened one eye cautiously, relaxing against Gordon once he'd recognized who was holding him. He trusted Edward and Gordon, but he still struggled with physical contact from the others. The diesel shunters who'd worked at Crewe had been rather rough with the damaged engine, partially traumatizing Henry.

Gordon had felt Henry relax in his arms, and let a tired smile creep over his face. He began to hum gently, something new that he'd heard from a young lady on one of the platforms at Knapford.

Henry looked curiously at Gordon as he'd begun humming. It wasn't new knowledge to him that Gordon could hold a tune, but the other engine rarely sung or made music. Henry listened carefully before joining in, singing quietly.

+And some days I can't even trust myself,+

Gordon's eyes widened, but he joined the song without missing a beat.

#It's killing me to see you this way.

'Cause though the truth may vary this

ship will carry our bodies safe to shore. #

Henry had scrutinized Gordon, trying to decipher his mood. Gordon's arms shook slightly around Henry.

+There's an old voice in my head

That's holding me back.+

#Well tell it that I miss our little talks.#

+Soon it will all be over, and buried with our past+

#Things used to be so nice when we were young

And full of life and full of love- #

+Some days I don't know

if I am wrong or right.+

#Your mind is playing tricks on you,

my dear.#

#+ 'Cause though the truth may vary This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore.+#

+Don't listen to a word I say, hey

The screams all sound the same+

#+And Though the truth may vary This

ship will carry our bodies safe to shore+#

Gordon had stopped humming and looked down at Henry in mild concern. He had heard of engines left in unstable mental states after prolonged exposure to scrap-yards and places that scrapped engines. Henry seemed alright, but Gordon decided to stay with him for a while, to make sure he was okay.

Henry, apparently deciding Gordon was alright, nuzzled into Gordon's chest, content. Gordon let out a low, rumbling laugh that Henry could feel; he ruffled Henry's hair gently. Henry grinned. If Gordon was here to protect him, maybe the nightmares wouldn't come tonight.


	2. Monsters (Percy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to go downhill on the island, and Percy worries.

"Don't be silly, Percy. There's no such thing as monsters"   
  
Percy felt himself shiver on his wheels as the shed creaked around him. The wind wailed fiercely, rocking the shed on its foundations. The shed was lit by a single flickering lightbulb above Percy's head.   
  
Percy missed his friends. Missed Thomas, who had been his best friend. Missed Edward, ever reassuring and caring. Even Henry, Gordon and James; for all their teasing, they had cared about the other engines.   
  
Edward had been sent to Wellsworth, and when he had hit a lorry stalled on the crossing, he had been too damaged to be repaired. He'd been scrapped later that year. His smokebox's door had ripped off, leaving a hole that gaped like a monstrous dark maw where Edward's face had once been.    
  
Thomas had gone a bit crazy after Edward left. Complaining of hearing voices and sounds at night, of seeing monsters in the woods. It had been brushed off as grief induced paranoia until Thomas had shoved Stephen and Percy off the rails, muttering about sacrificing them for his personal safety. He had been abandoned in a shed to rot. Toby and Duck both reported hearing Thomas screaming about monsters until he'd gone silent one night. They didn't talk about Thomas after that.   
  
James's fear of monsters had begun acting up rather severely after that, and he'd been jumpy and terrified of anything that moved. Henry's anxiety was made worse by James's constant worrying, and the two of them had become obsessed and paranoid. Gordon had dismissed it as inane rumour, at least until James and Henry disappeared.   
  
The shed shook once more, and Percy squeaked in fear. He shut his eyes tightly and murmured "T-There's no such t-thing as m-monsters. T-There can't be, Gordon said there weren't any-"   
  
"Percy?” Gordon had called aloud with a strange tremor to his voice, "Remember how I told you there was no such thing as monsters?"   
  
"Yes, Gordon?"   
  
  
"I lied."


	3. Ghost Train (Thomas & Spencer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer tricks Thomas into pulling a ghost train, but may get more than he bargained for...

On a night long ago, when the evening wind blew bitterly cold and the moon hung full in the sky; when the trees seemed to hang their heads in despair and the shadows were windows to the void, there was a small blue tank engine.  
  
He was a cheeky little tank engine, but he always meant well. He tried his best, even when he knew it wouldn't be enough. He always tried hard to be on time, no matter how late he actually was. He had two coaches: Annie and Clarabelle. They, as well as his branchline, were his pride and joy.   
  
On this night, Annie and Clarabelle were absent as Thomas puffed back to Tidmouth along the island's mainline. He'd had a particularly bad day, courtesy of Spencer. The private silver engine had teased Thomas about his size. "Such a _teeny little tank engine_ could never pull coaches as well as an engine like me. How could Topham give _you_ a branch line?"   
  
Thomas had been incredibly angry. "What must I do to prove to you that I'm just as good as you?!?" Spencer had smirked in delight at winding up the little tank engine.   
  
"Pull a Tenebrae service."   
  
Thomas was confused. "What's a Tenebrae service? Is it a special train?"   
  
"Yes," Spencer replied. "It's an express pulled along the mainline between Crovan's Gate and Tidmouth from midnight until 3am. Back and forth, only stopping at Maron and wherever you need to get coal and water. Even Gordon's never pulled it."   
  
"What's so special about it?   
  
"Every engine who's ever pulled it was cursed. You won't see anyone board or disembark, but the carriages will get heavier and lighter."   
  
Thomas was silent, speechless. Spencer smirked. "If you pull a Tenebrae service, I'll apologise and spread the word that you deserve your branchline and whatever else you want me to do. I've no conditions if you fail. And I'll *know* if you fail." With that, he'd puffed away.   
  
As Thomas backed into the sheds, he'd asked Gordon about the Tenebrae service. Gordon scoffed. "I'm not pulling that service for anything. Nothing could convince me to puff around in the dark for *that*." Thomas took this as confirmation that Gordon had never pulled it, and that it was cursed.   
  
The next night, he chuffed quietly out of the sheds, coupled up to the two express coaches he'd left on a siding and set out to begin the Tenebrae service.   
  
Usually, an engine pulling a Tenebrae service would experience a run of bad luck. More frequent mechanical faults, more delays etc. The last engine to pull one had been Henry, about a week prior to the Flying Kipper Incident. He had crashed and been sent to Crewe to be rebuilt. He, too, hadn't believed it was unlucky.   
  
Thomas, however would encounter something much worse than bad luck.   
  
Around 2:30am, 30 minutes till the end of the Tenebrae service, everything was as Spencer had said. Suddenly, a set of points on the line switched and jammed. They sent him hurtling off the main line into a disused branch line. His driver and fireman jumped clear as Thomas crashed through the brush with his carriages. In the half light of the Moon, Thomas looked as pale as a ghost.   
  
Thomas burst through the other side of the bushes and came to rest on a track that looked just like the one he'd been diverted onto. He felt odd, felt weak and unnaturally cold despite the fire in his boiler.   
  
He chuffed forward slowly, unsure of his surroundings. He continued to pull his "empty" express coaches, though they certainly didn't feel empty. He decided to try to continue the Tenebrae service, and pulled into Crovan's Gate. All weight in his carriages suddenly vanished. After a few circuits of the Tenebrae stations with no new passengers, he looked up.   
  
He saw streaks of light flowing towards Ulfstead Castle, mirroring the track beneath his wheels. He followed them into the castle; into its depths.   
  
Spencer hadn't been extremely worried when Thomas was nowhere to be found in the morning, but when he hadn't been found by evening he had worried about whether Thomas had actually taken a Tenebrae service. If he had, he could be derailed somewhere along the mainline unless -   
  
Spencer suddenly remembered the warning he'd gotten from Stephen when he'd been told about the Tenebrae service. "Never use it to curse another engine, or with malicious intent. It will trap them, and the Ulfstead mirror will haunt you with them."   
  
Spencer puffed swiftly away to Ulfstead, to confirm his suspicions.   
  
Thomas chuffed tiredly into the basement level of Ulfstead, to find a large mirrored wall. In the dim light of what seemed to be the moon, it was more like a window into a world that seemed warmer. It looked nicer in there, and Thomas wanted nothing more than to go home to Tidmouth.   
  
He hadn't seen any other engines on the rails at all, though he had seen people at the stations. Their faces were blurred by the speed of his passing through, though they were vaguely terrifying in the half light of the moon. They looked like spirits, the ghosts of people long since dead.   
  
Looking through the mirror showed Spencer, puffing into Ulfstead and being shown into a room. Through the mirror, he looked right at Thomas. Thomas got the impression he looked distinctly different than he had before.

_________

Spencer's eyes were wide as he regarded the tank engine in the mirror. Thomas seemed pale, exhausted. He rolled forward, almost touching the mirror. Thomas looked like an ill timed gust would blow him away.

_________

Thomas felt something tugging at the corners of his mind. It felt cold, cruel, vengeful. He focused back on Spencer, who was almost shaking. “Spencer? What's going on? Please, Spencer! I just want to go home!”

_________

Spencer watched Thomas glide forwards as if floating in air. When he spoke, it was a somewhat garbled wail. He seemed almost transparent in the low light, like every second he was fading away. Spencer was petrified.

_________

Thomas realised that Spencer suddenly looked a lot closer, and that he'd been talking without realising it. In a moment, he realised the lack of control. He managed to push past the frigid feeling that had enveloped him, and screamed. “Spencer, GO!”

The frigid cold feeling sharpened painfully, and Thomas felt a hissing, mocking voice manifest in the middle of it. “How cute. Sacrificing yourself to save him. Shame it won't save _you_.” Then Thomas didn't feel cold anymore.

_________

Spencer was jolted by Thomas's sudden scream, and reversed, speeding out of the castle. He went straight to Edward and explained everything. The experience stuck with him, and Spencer often had a haunted expression on his face when Thomas was brought up.

They erected a memorial for Thomas and the tale spread through the railway. Legend says that sometimes, on a moonlit night, you can still see Thomas chuffing around. Sometimes you can even see the tears streaming down his face.


	4. Lonely Sheds (James x Edward)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is feeling down. James notices, and some confessions are made.

Edward let out a tired sigh. Another beautiful day to spend stuck in the sheds. He watched with a mix of envy, fear and bittersweet happiness as James, Gordon and Henry puffed away happily to do their jobs. He'd gone back to a troubled sleep to pass the time.  
  
Edward was old, and not as strong as the other engines. Being out and about, pulling freight and passengers was sadly uncommon for him. Even if Edward was called out of the shed, it was usually to be a back engine on Gordon's Hill, where he would help push other engines and their trains up the hill. After that, it was back to the sheds.   
  
Edward wasn't one to cause a fuss, but he was lonely. It showed in his demeanor, in every forced smile, in every crease of his face, in the once beautiful paint which had become faded and almost pale. This loneliness spread to the sheds themselves.   
  
The other engines began to notice.   
  
James was first to bring it up. "Gordon, do you think Edward's lonely? I mean, he's always stuck in the shed...it's probably very  boring and uncomfortable."   
  
"Nonsense James. Edward is fine. He gets plenty of time outside, being a back engine for more important engines like us. Edward is small, and old. It's no wonder we’re always chosen over him."   
  
James, however, was not convinced, and tried Henry. Henry, too, was little comfort. "If he is lonely, I'm not quite sure how to help him. The long, heavy goods trains I take would be impossible for him to take. True, he spends little time outside, but I'm not able to help you on this one, James. Best to take it up with Sir Topham."   
  
James was so preoccupied with thinking about Edward that he'd nearly hit Toby and Henrietta in Wellsworth. Toby was understandably annoyed. "What do you think you're doing, James? You could have caused a major accident!"   
  
James had shot Toby a worried look. "Sorry Toby, you too Henrietta. I'm just worried about Edward." Toby was surprised by this, as James had never seemed to care whether Edward was happy or not. He'd actively teased him when they'd been younger, when he and Gordon had been bigger prats than they currently were. When they'd been more convinced of their superiority, before the Beeching cuts.   
  
"What are you worried about particularly? Edward seems fine," Toby had questioned James cautiously. James had seemed distracted before he'd refocused on the question. "He's quieter than he used to be. He ... He's less cheerful. Sometimes he just looks like he's about to cry. The sheds feel ... colder. Emptier, despite his presence. It worries me."   
  
Toby considered this for a moment. "He's an older engine, and doesn't seem to be able to do much anymore. I'd suggest talking to him and just checking in on him once in a while. The difference it makes is surprising."   
  
James hummed thoughtfully, before starting at the sound of the guard's whistle. He was quiet that night, and waited until Gordon was asleep before enacting his plan.   
  
He rolled slowly out of the sheds and onto the turntable, waking Edward. "What are you doing this late at night, James?" He'd asked sleepily. "Why not wait until morning?"   
  
James let out a quiet sigh as he was turned to face Edward. "I'm worried, I guess. I needed to move, the walls felt too close. Reminded me of one of my nightmares." This wasn't a lie, but wasn't the whole truth. The nightmare hadn't mainly been about James.   
  
Edward let James's words hang in the air for a moment, before gently enquiring about it. "What happened?"   
  
"We were out on a special service, pulling a special for train enthusiasts along the mainline. We weren't exactly sure why we'd been chosen, but you were happy to be out and about. "   
  
"That doesn't sound so bad," Edward murmured, perplexed. Still half asleep and not remembering what a special service usually preceded on the mainland.   
  
"Then we were left in a shed. Dark, damp and musty. Left to rust, never leaving its confines. I watched your empty husk get cut up for scrap."   
  
Edward winced, now fully alert. "Ah. That's... Upsetting." He watched James carefully for a moment before speaking. "But I'm still here, and I'm unhurt. I'm okay, James."   
  
James huffed in frustration. "That's just the point. I'm worried about you, Edward."   
  
Edward's expression seemed to freeze. "Why are you worried James?" he'd asked in a tense voice. "There's nothing to be worried about."   
  
"But there is! I'm worried because you seem so unhappy, because you seem so ... lonely." Edward looked up in surprise at James. He'd not thought the red engine aware enough to notice. He was shocked by the tears welling in James's eyes.   
  
"I was a lowly goods engine on my previous railway. I know what it's like to be lonely and sad. To be neglected. I know how much that feeling hurts." James rolled forward slightly, glancing over at Gordon's berth. If the great blue sausage woke up, he'd say something and mess everything up.   
  
Edward caught the movement and realized why James was being cautious. He rolled forward a little as well, so their buffers practically touched. He didn't notice the slight blush on James's cheeks.

James took a deep breath. “I just wanted to remind you that I appreciate you. The way you always seem calm and collected and wise … thank you for trying to keep me from messing up too often.” He managed a weak smile.

Edward's face split with a tired grin, and he smiled brightly and genuinely at James. “I have admired your confidence for a long time. I … struggle with mine, due to my age and ‘usefulness’. Thank you for speaking up, and for talking to me privately.” His smile wavered slightly, before yawning tiredly. He immediately realized what he'd done and blushed in embarrassment.

James giggled at Edward's blush, and murmured to him quietly. “We should probably go to sleep then, shouldn't we, _Old Iron_ ?” Edward smiled mischievously at James. “Certainly, James. You'll _bee_ busy tomorrow, I'm sure.” James huffed in fake annoyance.

The two of them shared a look, before breaking into quiet laughter and backing into their berths. Both of them slept well that night, dreams pleasantly free of nightmares. Somehow, in the morning, the sheds felt less lonely.


	5. General Wrecks (Gordon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon has an accident. Things don't go well.

Gordon is a big engine. He goes very fast, and pulls the express on the Island of Sodor.  At least, he did. Before the accident.

 

The accident began the day previous to the actual wreck. One of the express coaches was in the works being mended after its wheels had been damaged by a sudden stop;  a car had stalled on the crossing. The workmen hadn't realised that the brake lever was damaged and only loosely connected to the brakes. The coach was returned to the yard and no problems were reported.

The morning of the accident, Gordon's fire has been slow to start. He'd sat sleepily in his berth a full 15 minutes longer than usual, and he'd almost departed late. This made him irritable and cross; his mood made worse by the cheeky teasing of Thomas, the rostered station pilot at the time. Gordon had been determined to prove that he was superior to Thomas and had picked up speed rapidly once past Knapford. 

He'd rushed impatiently past Edward near Wellsworth, and his driver attempted to reign him in after they'd passed through Kildane. Neither of them noticed that the points had been set wrong, and that they'd been diverted onto the same track as Henry's oncoming goods train. 

Henry had noticed, and whistled frantically to the signalman. The points were old and somewhat sticky. They switched with a sudden snap. Henry was diverted off the track, but the sudden switch shook some metal ballbearings out of the trucks onto the rails. What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion.

 

Gordon tried to put on the brakes, but the carriage brakes failed despite the lever being used. He slid helplessly towards the ball bearings, wheels skidding on the rails and throwing up a shower of sparks. Gordon's wheels were shredded as they mounted the ball bearings, and his front wheels derailed. His boiler overbalanced him, and he'd toppled onto his side as his driver and fireman were flung from his cab. The rough ballast on the tracks scoured away his paint, before ripping into his boiler with a screech. His body kept moving, dragging him along the ballast. His tender coupling broke and the carriages detached from him with a jerk, knocking his tender off the rails & spilling coal everywhere. His driver and fireman were trapped beneath him and smeared across the ballast obscenely, creating a gory red stain on the track.

As Gordon finally came to a stop with the groan and shriek of abused metal, the hot coals from his firebox lit spilt coal from his tender, scorching the tracks and setting the sleepers alight. The last thing Gordon heard before he'd passed out from the pain was Henry's panicked cry of "Gordon!" rising over the din of evacuating passengers.

 

Henry had towed Gordon to the Steamworks on a flatbed, facing him the whole journey. Gordon was in bad shape, and Henry was struggling to stay optimistic. As they pulled into the Steamworks, Henry silently pleaded with whatever deities existed that Gordon would be okay.

Gordon survived the wreck, but with major consequences. His repairs were never fully accepted by his body, and he was greatly weakened by the ordeal. He rusted away outside the Steamworks for five years before being scrapped. The Flying Scotsman was quietly notified of his brother's death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave Kudos/Comment! It lets me know how good my writing is ^.^


	6. Rusting (James)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A great calamity occurs and engines are forgotten...

James was a splendid red engine. His paintwork shone a glossy crimson, and he was very proud of it. He worked very hard on the railway, smugly dazzling people wherever he went. He was the most splendid engine on the main line, and was an example of a truly beautiful piece of machinery.

He dazzled people at least, until the Great Conflict.

None of the engines knew what the conflict was, only that it necessitated the evacuation of the Sudrian citizens. This courtesy was not extended to the engines.

Thomas and Percy had been spared from being left in the sheds in those final days. The Scottish twins had also survived, but they were lucky. Toby had been left in his shed on the Branchline, and no one had heard from him since. It was worse at Tidmouth.

The larger tender engines had been deemed too expensive to save. They had been left in the sheds while Sodor evacuated. They'd been told that someone would come to the sheds to look after them. No one ever arrived for them.

James was a splendid red engine. His faded red paintwork was peeling and he was slowly starting to rust. He stayed in the shed for years.

Gordon had been rescued first, his brother towing him away to York, to the NRM with Mallard and Truro. Henry next, stolen from the sheds in the night; then there were two. Edward did his best to reassure him, but he was slowly growing quieter and quieter. One night Edward didn't talk anymore. James understood. He had days like that.

James was once a splendid red engine. His glossy crimson paintwork long gone, and replaced by an itching, flaking coat of rust. He worked no longer, sitting in the shed as his wheels and frame disintegrated beneath him and the remains of his friend sat unmoving nearby.

When people finally came, they were greeted by a grisly sight. Edward was long dead, a rusting hulk in a nearby berth. But the real shock sat in front of them.

James, or what had formerly been James, was not long for the world upon discovery. His once bright eyes sat dull in their sockets, and his face was streaked with long dried tears.

"Just....just need to...hold...on.."

James heaved a single, rattling breath that caused a flurry of rust flakes to cascade off his decaying form.

"They'll come back....We'll...be...saved..."

He locked eyes with his rescuers, a spark of madness within his eyes.

"Gordon? ...Henry? You....came back! You came back for Edward and I! You -"

James was cut off as his rusted wheels crumpled beneath him and smashed his fragile form against the rails. He shattered like glass.

A single salty tear slid from unseeing eyes onto a dusty face, as a splendid pile of rust was cleaned off the track.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, life has been annoying me lately :(


	7. Dynamite (Henry, Thomas, Bill & Ben)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dynamite provides an explosive surprise for Henry. Thomas panics, and Bill & Ben flee the scene.

'Ah, shit.'   
  
Henry stared in mild disbelief at the smoking wreck that had once been a siding. The tracks abruptly disappeared, the large black crater the only marker of what had previously occupied the space.    
  
It looked like a bomb had gone off.    
  
Henry puffed away quietly to get a nice, alcoholic drink and mull over what'd happened. The train had been shunted, a bright streak of light, then the thing had exploded.   
  
Somehow Henry felt he might need something more potent than straight tequila.    
  
\-----

Meanwhile, in the Knapford shunting yard, Thomas was staring in shock at the quarry train. He counted them again to be sure, then began rushing around the yard in a panic. There was a truck of highly dangerous materials missing!   
  
"No, no no! Where could it be?! How did I lose an entire truck of dynamite!?"   
  
\-----

In the nearby quarry, not long before the explosion, Bill and Ben were playing with some fireworks they'd found in a siding.   
  
They shared a worried look in the quarry after one of the fireworks they'd lit went sailing out of the quarry. It flew right over the trees, trailing multicoloured sparks.   
  
"Bill, do you think we should be worried about that stray firework?"   
  
"Nah, Ben. I'm sure it'll be fine."   
  
Both twins were struck with fear as the dynamite truck exploded moments later.   
  
"Ah...Bill?"   
  
"Yes, Ben?"   
  
"Run."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late, short chapter. Life is still not in order. Regular updates still flowing though, so don't panic (^.^)


	8. Scrapyards (Gordon, Henry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon ends up in a scrapyard, alone.  
> He is scared.

Gordon was scared.  
  
He never thought his life would come to this. Never thought he'd end up here, among the scrap, useless and broken. Forsaken.  
  
~~Henry wasn't supposed to be here either, but that hadn't saved him~~  
  
The diesels chuckled as they went about their jobs, hurling insults at the express engine as they went.  
  
                                                                                                                                                "The great galloping sausage is going to fry!"  
  
"Useless puffing teapot. Serves you right!"  
  
  
                                                                                                                             "Didn't cry as much as the red one. So boring, this one..."  
  
"Great Northern would be so disappointed, wouldn't he? OH RIGHT, He's scrap now!"  
  
Scotsman and Spencer were both at the NRM with Mallard for their overhauls. They would not be saving him now. Gordon couldn't help but feel abandoned and alone.  
  
Edward, James and Henry had already fallen to the diesel horde and joined 'The Golden Shed In The Sky' where ...  
  
Gordon shuddered. Great Northern, his oldest sibling, would be there. Would he be proud of him for what he'd done? Would he condemn Gordon for not saving him?  
  
A cold wind blew through the scrapyard, whining and wailing through the twisted mountains of metal around Gordon. Something nearby creaked alarmingly, sending Gordon into a panic.  
  
He shut his eyes tightly, tears leaking from the corners. He shook in terror, creating a quiet metallic rattling. If he were human, he would have soiled himself in fear.  
  
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.  
  
Gordon relaxed slightly, still wary. His tears had made twin streaks on his face, and his eyes still held the instability of a cornered animal. The tension slowly dissipated from his frame as no danger materialised.  
  
He let out a sigh of relief.  
  
A large Stanier 'Black Five' class locomotive tumbled off a nearby heap and landed in front of him. Gordon screamed at the sight.  
  
Henry's face had a large gash in the middle of it, allowing Gordon to see right into the dark interior of his boiler. One eye was missing, the other bloodshot. Various parts had been ripped forcefully from his body, leaving jagged metal where the parts had sheared off. His mouth still hung twisted in a silent scream.  
  
Gordon started sobbing quietly.  
  
One of the shunters had heard the noise, and laughed at Gordon's suffering. "Fastest and best? Ha! You're all so weak and useless!" The shunter called his friends over and they shoved Gordon and Henry's carcass into a nearby shed. As the doors closed, Gordon's sobs rose to a scream.  
  
In the dark of the shed, Gordon felt alone. Henry's empty husk sat in front of him, a constant reminder of everything he had lost and could now lose. He let the tears slide quietly down his face and he quieted his sobs as much as possible, trying desperately to ignore his surroundings.  
  
He was alone, sorrowful and terrified. In this hellhole, such was the norm. Bodies were not the only things scrapped here. This was the place of death. This was the Scrapyard.


	9. Molten Metal (Edward, James, Thomas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scent of molten metal lingers in the air.
> 
> It's not something Edward likes.

The smell of molten metal hung in the air. The scent was one Edward was familiar with, but not one excessively dear to him. Not since the Steelworks.

Thomas had been aggravated by James constantly crowing about being the favourite. He'd stolen James's goods train to prove himself. He'd gone to the mainland, and the steelworks engines had enslaved him. Edward was well aware they had names, but refused to acknowledge said names after what they did to Thomas.

Thomas was enslaved, and worked to excess by the steelworks engines. They had forced him to do the copious amount of work built up from their negligence, and punished him harshly for being unable to complete the work on his own. He had been hit with anything at hand as 'discipline' for the inevitable failures, and had been ill maintained by the workers. The little engine was practically worked off his wheels to meet the expectations forced on him.

Edward shivered as he remembered the day they'd finally found the little tank engine.

The sulfurous smell had tainted the air, as the glowing of the scorchingly hot steel in the nearby vats cast eerie shadows across the walls. The quiet tears of the Sudrian no. 1 were gut wrenching. His spark was gone, the happiness he'd seemed to carry completely absent in the hellish scene: various tears and dents littered his beaten frame. He'd been barely responsive.

Edward felt nauseous as he opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed, and was greeted with the red glow and suffocatingly hot air of the smelter's pit. Diesel shunters buffered up behind him and he sighed quietly. He glanced over at a nearby track, where the remains of the Sudrian no. 5 sat, completely gutted and stripped down to the bare frame, crying.

As Edward joined the pool of slag in the middle of the room, his last thoughts were consumed by the memories of the vain red engine James had used to be, back in the glory days. When they'd been cared for and loved. When the warmth of their smiles had been real.

His tears were lost among the molten metal.


	10. Faceless Engines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A document from the desk of the notorious Dr. Beeching on the subject of Faceless and Non-Faceless engines. The identities of the engines mentioned remain unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a new style on this one, please give me feedback! ^.^

**~~\--~~ From the desk of Dr. Beeching ~~\--~~**

There is a clear distinction among the locomotives of the British Railway. There are Faceless, seemingly inert machines, and there are Non-Faceless engines. Non-Faceless engines possess faces that mirror specific human facial features (eyes, mouth, nose) and possess limited sentience, making them able to communicate coherently with their crew and railway personnel. However, an engine's face is not a permanent part of a locomotive. It can be separated with some degree of work to create a Faceless or non-speaking engine. However, there are many imperfections in the procedure, which may render the locomotive useless. Faceless engines cannot be made Non-Faceless unless they were previously Non-Faceless, and reversal of the removal procedure is usually only successful if the original faceplate is used.

Engines who have become Faceless may retain high levels of consciousness/sentience if the procedure is carried out without the engine's consent, or if they bear grudges to other engines/humans at the time of conversion. The engine may still experience such emotions as distress and fear, and may retain high enough levels of motor control that they can hinder work. This is best resolved by sedating said engine heavily for the first month/season to allow time for the engine to acclimate to its new form and lack of communication. It is the most currently successful method of encouraging an engine to accept its new condition. If the engine continues to be temperamental, other punishments may be required. Prideful engines, LNER and GWR models in particular, are often troublesome after the procedure. Unexpected mechanical faults and 'sticky' controls are often present in these engines after the conversion. Solitude and isolation of the engine are recommended actions; both to give the engine time to understand its new situation, and to prevent rebellious and difficult temperaments influencing other engines. Being firm is essential: if it is not made clear that disobedience is not tolerated, the disobedience will continue.

The procedure can also hinder performance in physical ways. Indelicate removal of the 'faceplate' on the smokebox door often corresponds to a strong decrease in the structural integrity of the boiler and tubes and lead to increased risk of boiler explosions or smokebox cracks. Other mechanical problems are often reported, but these instances are often correlation and not causation. I am reminded of the recent case of an engine of Sodor being converted after being sold from the island. It was a consistently shy steamer, suffering repeated steam leaks despite an overhaul. It was scrapped a year later due to a large crack in the smokebox, as well as ruptured tubes. Care must be exercised to ensure the maintenance of strength in structural parts before, during and after the procedure.

Equipment used during the procedure must also be well maintained. There are a select few conditions that can be transmitted by the procedure, which predispose an engine to rust and illness. Improperly cleaned equipment is the most common medium, but contaminated water and coal in close proximity to the procedure can also pose a threat to the engine. There was one case on the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway in which a modified class 28 contracted an unknown malady post-procedure. The engine was plagued by unusually high amounts of boiler sludge and accelerated rusting. A later autopsy of the engine conducted during the investigation concluded that it was a rare form of parasite on the blades used during the conversion. The engine was quickly scrapped, and incinerated to prevent infection of other engines. Equipment must be kept sterile, else complications can incapacitate whole fleets.

Engines who experience the procedure, even those restored to 'non-faceless' status, are consistently more psychologically unstable than their fellows. One K2 'Larger Seagull' class from the Furness Railway experienced the procedure, and has since displayed periods of severely depressed or aggressive behaviour. It was allowed to form a bond with another engine on its new home railway, but such behavior is unnatural and should be discouraged. There is more information to the detriment of such bonds, but it mostly falls under 'anecdotal evidence'. There is also debate as to whether the engines form genuine attachments, or are simply imitating crew and personnel around them. The crew of the engine in question were involved at the time, and may have unintentionally influenced their engine. It is recommended that bonds between engines are given a minimum of consideration when planning shed arrangements or similar, to discourage such behaviour.

More research must be conducted on the conversion to 'Faceless' engines, but it is highly recommended that the conversion procedure not be performed unless all other reasonable avenues have been explored. The procedure may make recipients unstable, uncooperative or physically handicapped, and as such is not a financially sound decision except under extreme duress. Alternate action is strongly recommended.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A serial killer is loose on Sodor. When Edward and Henry lose those closest to them, a dire chain of consequences will unveil the killer-
> 
> But at what cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the missed update last week. This prompt just wouldn't stop and I got kinda carried away. Please enjoy this longer chapter as an apology. :)

It was a sleepy Sunday morning, and the Island of Sodor was in uproar. Paranoia reigned, and one could never be too sure of their friends. This was unusual for the Island, which possessed a generally calm and friendly air.

What was even more unusual was the lack of engines on the rails. No morning express, no freight trains rattling along the track. The conspicuous lack of engines was the first clue. The second clue would be discovered moments later, in Tidmouth.

\----------------

Edward yawned sleepily as he opened his eyes for the first time that day. There was a red shape in front of him, which Edward assumed to be James. He wasn't entirely wrong, but it wasn't quite the James he'd loved. It really wasn't.

Nearby, Henry was waking up for his first passenger train of the day. He and James had swapped duties after one of James' pranks had backfired. A familiar blue tender blocked his view, and Henry called out to Gordon quietly. Receiving no answer, he called again. The calls turned to cries, and panic bloomed within Henry.

Edward, hearing Henry's voice escalate, tried to get James' attention and get him to move so he could try and comfort Henry. The lack of reply had Edward worried. James wouldn't have ignored Henry's worried words.

Stuck behind their two loves, Henry and Edward could only scream for help. The sight their rescuers received was not one they'd forget.

\--------------

James' face bore marks that partially matched cinderburn, but cinderburn was usually quite small, even in severe cases. James looked like coal from his tender had been poured over his face and set alight. There were patches of paint bubbled and scorched by the heat, and rents in his boiler that looked like a giant claw had been taken to it. His face was nearly unrecognizable, and an ornate T had been scratched into James' remaining paint. Polaroid photos were found stuffed into his tender, all of the same ornate sigil on an engine who had been missing for a while. Murdoch, Stanley, and Toby were among them.

Gordon's condition wasn't much better. 'Gresly disgrace' had been branded across his tender, and the sigil was burned onto his face and buffer beam. His eyes had been gouged out, with bloody holes in their place.

His boiler had been slowly and painfully ripped open, the marks where rivets had popped free of the metal visible and raw. His mouth was twisted into a grotesque version of a scream, small nicks and cuts cauterized by extreme heat littering his lips.

Henry and Edward had caught sight of their significant others being towed away.   Henry's heart shattered into a million icy shards, but Edward only felt numb. They, as well as Thomas, Percy and Emily, were housed at Knapford for the foreseeable future.

That night, the shed buzzed with rumours. Thomas and Percy traded gossip in hushed tones with a jumpy Emily, while Henry attempted not to burst into tears every five minutes.

Inevitably, he failed, and began crying at Edward, who was still processing the day's events. Topham had been merciful and declared a day of rest on the railway. The list of the fallen was compiled, and the railway was in widespread mourning. The Island reeled from the loss of many who had been considered family to an unknown and terrifying enemy.

The "Sudrian Serial Killer" was gaining notoriety as the list expanded. Edward's numbness slowly sharpened into a cold, calculating anger. He was going to find the killer and avenge James, if it killed him.

\--------------

The next day, Henry was very wary of taking his morning passenger service on the mainline. He'd barely been able to stop crying this morning, and he was worried. Worried about Thomas and Percy, who had been unusually sober. Worried about Emily, who seemed shaken by the whole exercise. Worried about Edward, who seemed to hold a new anger in his eyes.

Henry took a deep breath, whistled to alert his guard, and pulled out of Knapford station.

As he chuffed along the track, he'd had plenty of time to think. His drivers had been informed of Gordon's demise and had given Henry space to mourn; they weren't going to force him to talk so soon after his loss.

Henry's musings led him to a terrifying conclusion: he was partially responsible for James' death. It was *his* freight train James had been rostered to take; no matter that James had gotten himself assigned to Henry's trains by Topham, Henry felt responsible.

It didn't take long for the overwhelming feeling of guilt to set in.

\------------------

Edward had confronted Thomas and Percy  about the serial killer that morning. They had joked around at first, but the dullness in Edward's eyes quickly evaporated any mirth in the air. Eyes that had once sparkled with delight now held a glacial anger, slow but powerful. Neither of them had any clues for Edward, but promised to tell him if they found anything. In Percy’s private opinion, it was a bit scary how badly Edward was taking this.

Edward had been debating whether to ask Diesel about the murders when Henry puffed in, headed for the turntable. He pulled up beside the green engine to question him about possible clues, but immediately sensed Henry’s unusual shiftiness. Edward's eyes narrowed.

"Henry. What's got you so jittery?"

Henry started in surprise at Edward's voice, before his face crumpled. He’d answered too quickly, murmuring a reply as he rolled onto the turntable.

"Oh, nothing Edward. I'm just...sad. That Gordon's gone."

Edward was not fooled by this pitiful attempt at deflection, and fixed Henry with a stare that pierced through him like a cutter's torch.

Henry winced and shifted guiltily under Edward's scrutiny. He could practically feel it without even looking at him. As the turntable beneath him juddered into life, he spoke.

"I...I feel guilty." His eyes slowly drifted upwards to look at Edward head on. "It was my train that James was supposed to pull. I keep feeling that I should have done something, anything! But I didn't do anything and now he's dead. They’re both dead."

Edward's eyes had gone wide with shock, and his gaze softened. "Henry, that wasn't your fault. You know that."

Henry grimaced, and his eyes dropped to the track in front of him. "Knowing that doesn't make it easier to live with. At least if I'd been pulling the train, you'd have James with you." He sighed dejectedly. "And I'd probably be with Gordon."

Edward switched onto the turntable track and bumped Henry roughly to get his attention.

"Listen to me. We're going to find out who killed them. We're going to make them pay. And we're not going to worry about anything beyond that. That will be our goal. We’ll avenge them, and won't worry about afterwards. No what ifs, no hypotheticals, just finding the killer. Alright?"

Henry met Edward's firm gaze and took a slow, shuddering breath. "Alright."

\-----

Henry and Edward spent the night together, reminiscing about Gordon and James. Remembering every good experience: they had no time to be negative. Tomorrow was uncertain, and they wanted to remember their happiest memories should their situation deteriorate.

The next morning they spent investigating. They'd roped Thomas and Percy into the investigative team, and the four engines had begun looking for clues.

They'd asked all along the rails: they'd asked along the branch lines, along the mainline, and even asking the Skarloey and Culdee Fell engines who remained about clues. Bertie and Harold had pledged their help, and helped ferry information between engines.

Skarloey and Rheneas, the only remaining Skarloey engines, were apologetic. They had seen nothing from the killer after the others on their railway had disappeared: they had no clues to give. Culdee had no information either, other than the fact that he was now alone; all his colleagues killed by the mysterious murderer. The branch lines had yielded little that the engines did not know. Duck had told them through tears how Oliver had gone missing and never returned; Douglas had refused to talk to anyone, still mourning his brother's passing. They had left the Little Western with more sorrow than answers. Even the diesels had nothing to give, other than casualty lists: Sidney, Den, Dart and the Iron Twins had disappeared without trace. The engines were beginning to give up.

Reconvening at Knapford to discuss their findings, Thomas spoke first.

"We've been searching all day," he'd declared, "And we've found nothing but dead ends. Diesels and steam engines alike have gone missing. There's no rhyme or reason, and we're no closer to identifying even a suspect!"

Henry looked nervously over at Edward, whose brow was knitted with concentration.

"It doesn't make sense for there to be no clues.” he’d muttered annoyedly. “Killers don't just vanish into thin air. We must have missed something."

"We missed Emily," Percy cut in sharply. "What about her?"

The four engines stopped short, realising their oversight. "I can't believe she would ever do something like that," Edward sighed. "Nor that she would have a connection to this."

Thomas' face hardened. "We'll just have to ask her."

When they found the Sterling engine in a disused shed at Knapford, she was visibly distressed. "Please, listen to me! I can explain, just - "

Henry backed over the points to block her escape as Edward cornered her, flanked by Thomas and Percy. "What could you tell us that would soothe the pain of loss?" Edward asked in a low, dangerous voice.

"What could you say that can fix everything? What could be so important that it'll stop us from getting you scrapped?"

Emily had shuddered in fear as Edward brought up scrapping. "I...I never meant any of this! I didn't want this! I never wanted to hurt anyone!" she'd screamed at Edward as she’d backed up against the buffers at the back of the shed.

"THEN WHY?!" Edward had screamed back. "Why kill them? Why take the most important part of my life? WHY JAMES?!" Edward rammed Emily right against the buffers, making them creak alarmingly. She'd started crying, the impact derailing her tender and preventing her from moving.

"I didn't pick!" she'd sobbed. "I only did what *he* told me...I had no choice!"

"Who?" Edward asked lowly, exhausted.

"Who else?" Emily spat, bitter. "You know well that an engine *must* obey direct orders from their owner. No matter the order." She'd watched Edward realise exactly what that meant, and her eyes found the sleepers in front of her. "I had to work with Diesel 10."

"We're done here." Edward's voice was icy. "Henry?" Henry moved off the points and the four of them returned to Knapford.

Edward passed on a message to the Fat Controller requesting he meet them at the sheds. By the time he arrived, Thomas and Percy were just getting settled in on either side of Edward and Henry. All four met his gaze with a glare.

"So, Topham. You're assassinating engines then?"

Topham recoiled as if he'd been stung, spluttering in indignation; but his piggy black eyes betrayed his complete understanding.

"What *are* you talking about, Edward?"

Thomas and Percy practically gaped at Topham's brazen lie, Edward's eyes narrowed, and Henry scoffed at the man in front of him. "So you deny sending Emily to work with Diesel 10?" questioned Edward.

Topham's eyes glinted with malice.

"Wherever did you get such false information? Emily was at the Steamworks all week!"

Topham sighed and made an exaggeratedly placating gesture. "I understand you are still grieving, but this paranoia is not acceptable. I will see about getting an engine from the other railway to look after your branch line until you are ... recovered." He'd turned and addressed Henry. "Both of you. Henry, I will have your trains covered by another engine. When you have both decided to be sensible, you may regain your responsibilities."

As the Fat Controller turned to leave, Edward and Henry glanced at each other briefly. As soon as Topham was out of earshot, they educated Thomas and Percy on as much of the Island’s lore as they could. They had precious little time, and lost much of the Island’s history through the retelling. But as the sun set, the two elder engines were satisfied with their progress. It was all they could do with the time they had.

The next morning, they were found at Wellsworth, torched. Edward looked like he’d been roasted over a massive bonfire, claw marks in his boiler mimicking bites and the sigil etched onto his smokebox. His boiler tubes had been bent and mangled to protrude from his mouth like a spit through a roast pig. Henry had simply been scorched, and his boiler crumbled into soot and ash when touched. The sigil had been engraved with acid on his bufferbeam. It was another attack by the Sudrian Serial Killer.

Thomas and Percy struggled with the knowledge of just how true that statement was, and grieved for Edward and Henry. Without them, they could not find ways to keep Topham in line, and soon they were alone. Topham simply sat in his office, dropped photos of Henry, Edward and Emily into the fire, and shoved another cream bun into his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave kudos or a comment if possible, as I like getting feedback for my writing. I'll try to update weekly. :)


End file.
